


Lose Control

by mizsphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizsphinx/pseuds/mizsphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge is a dish best served cold. And Ginny has waited five years to ensure that it is. (Gift fic for 'fury-shashka')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lose Control

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is a gift fic for my wonderful beta fury-shashka, lover of the Lucius/Ginny ship. :)

**Lose Control**

"Good boy," she smiles—an action so unnatural when compared to the coldness of her gaze. "Good, good doggie. You deserve a treat."

She pats his head and smiles some more. And he wonders.

Lucius Malfoy wonders how this situation came to be.

**-.-.-**

_Six weeks earlier_

_Koerner Auction Hall_

_Hydensaw, near Hogsmeade_

_September 14th, 2003_

Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt sighs. The ominous grey clouds of the charmed ceiling mimic the heaviness of his heart. He assures himself that what he is doing—what he's about to _allow_ —is right. And although a morally-sound voice tries to interfere, he ignores it.

He steps up to the waiting podium. His gaze moves over the seated crowd. Miraculously, of the 100 that's attending, he manages to locate Ginevra Weasley.

She is sitting at the back, where the lighting is less harsh.

Of the five Weasleys that are still alive, she's the only one there.

He is simultaneously puzzled at and understanding of her attendance.

She is not smiling. She is not frowning. Her face is an ivory mask of indifference that disturbs Kingsley Shacklebolt. She reminds him of a Muggle mannequin that has come to life. An inanimate form of plastic that sits and pretends it is harmless, but, in actuality, is deadly to the core.

**-.-.-**

Ginevra Weasley, the youngest child and only daughter of the late Molly and Arthur Weasley, smiles inwardly. Today, she is the happiest she has ever been since the War. Today, life is going to be corrected.

She dismisses Kingsley Shacklebolt's tedious speech on the effects the Second Wizarding War has caused throughout the Wizarding World. She does not care.

She does not fucking _care_.

Her mother, her father, Ron, Fred—dead. Harry, dead too. All of them. Dead.

Her family. Her life. Her future. Gone.

But not forgotten. No.

And not forgiven. No.

Never.

**-.-.-**

"…next up we have Rodolphus Lestrange. He participated in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom—parents of Neville Longbottom. He broke out of Azkaban twice. He also contributed to the destruction of the Department of Mysteries."

He hears murmurs but no bids.

"Hang him! Hang him! Hang that bastard!" someone screams, and although Lucius Malfoy cannot see who it is, he knows it is the Longbottom boy.

Disorder ensues. There are a few bangs, some shouts and screams, and then all returns to quiet.

If the situation wasn't so awful, Lucius might have chuckled.

But humour escapes him today.

"Let the biddings begin on Rodolphus Lestrange."

Where can he find the spirit to laugh when, today, his life will no longer be his anymore?

**-.-.-**

For some reason, when Kingsley looks at the next name on his list, instead of looking to the side where the man in question waits—wrists and ankles shackled with powerful magic—to hear his fate, he looks up at the spot where Ginevra Weasley sits.

She is smiling.

Her eyes are fixed on the blonde-haired man in filthy prison robes. The once regal and absurdly wealthy Lucius Malfoy.

Kingsley Shacklebolt realises what's about to happen.

He feels sorry for Lucius.

The man would have been better off hanged.

**-.-.-**

"We have Lucius Malfoy—"

"Five hundred galleons."

Ginny does not wait. Patience is not a virtue. It's an excuse to procrastinate.

This action causes a stir. Who would want Lucius Malfoy? The crowd questions with their hateful eyes directed at the stage. He deserves to be hung, just like that bitch, Bellatrix. The crowd agrees in unanimous silence.

She raises her card with the number 8 emblazoned on its front.

"Five hundred galleons to number eight…" Kingsley begins.

Heads turn. Eyes stare. Hearts judge.

_Yes, the youngest Weasley. Has gone out of her mind. Just like her mother did when her father died. No wonder Molly Weasley killed herself. No wonder—_

"…going twice. Prisoner Lucius Malfoy sold for one year to cardholder number eight."

**-.-.-**

_September 15th, 2003  
12 Crafts Road_

A house.

No. A mansion.

A sprawling, beautiful piece of property that would put his manor to shame.

And it belongs to a Weasley. A wealthy Weasley.

That term is so absurd it lends further surrealism to his current circumstance. A wealthy Weasley that shall own _him_ —Lucius Malfoy—as a slave.

A woman steps from the door and walks towards where he stands between the two Aurors that has brought him here. The black dress she wears hugs her slim figure, and its deep neckline exposes the creamy curves of her breasts. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, defining her cheekbones, and advertising her slender neck.

She stands before him. The corners of her mouth are upturned triumphantly.

Her lips are painted red. A blood-red that simultaneously disturb and arouse him. Without warning, his mind conjures images of her feasting on his neck, sucking away his life's essence; her mouth stained the same red, smiling the same smile.

Such a stunning creature she's become, he thinks.

This woman. His new master. Mistress.

Ginevra Weasley.

**-.-.-**

_September 18th, 2003_

She kicks the pail of water to the floor, effortlessly undoing his three-hour labour of mopping the floor with a six-by-four piece of cloth.

"It seems you're not quite finished," she says with a sunny smile. "And it's already seven in the evening. I guess this means no dinner."

Hardened brown meets darkening grey. A battle of wills ensues, but she knows that he knows that it is pointless. She has a wand. He does not.

"As you wish, my lady," he says quietly, and sets to work again.

And this displeases her. Despite knowing that it is futile if he fights against her, she wants him to do so. She needs him to do so.

A point needs to be proven, and he is robbing her.

His quiet patience, his unrelenting stoicism is infuriating.

And how can she ruin his dignity if he's already done so himself?

**-.-.-**

_October 25th, 2003_

"From now on, you will perform your chores naked, and with this collar secured around your neck to remind you of your station."

"And what station might that be?" escapes him before he can stop himself. This newest tactic has hit a sore point.

And she knows this because she is smiling.

That blood-red smile that makes him shudder from repulsion yet makes his cock hard with want.

"A dog, Lucius," she replies calmly. "A dirty, odious mongrel that isn't even fit for human company. From now on, you will act like a dog. Indeed, from now on, you will _be_ a dog."

She steps up to him, and wraps the collar around his throat. Surprisingly, she is gentle as she fastens it. Her eyes never leave his, and his never leaves hers.

A whispered incantation later, he is naked save for the green and silver collar that bears his name in cursive type.

"And what do dogs say, Lucius? What do _you_ say?"

His final moment of defiance is to take his time.

"Woof."

The blood-red smile appears again.

"Good boy. Good, good doggie. You deserve a treat."

Her goal to humiliate him is finally complete.

**-.-.-**

_November 4th, 2003_

As she sips at her wine, Ginny surveys the man working below her balcony. Currently, he is gathering wood for her fireplace, splicing the chunkier ones with an ax. He has discarded his slave's tunic, as the pull of the cloth restricts his movement, and his upper half is bare to the pale, early-November morning sun.

She thinks of revenge: the foremost reason why she has taken Lucius Malfoy as her slave.

She thinks of attraction: the desperately ignored reason why she has taken Lucius Malfoy as her slave.

She understands and accepts why she must hate the man, and despises herself because, despite her thirst for vengeance, she wants him.

Always has.

"I will never allow him to touch me."

He pauses his gathering of the wood to turn his head and look up at her. She is amazed by his sharp hearing, and by the intensity of his gaze.

It's as though he is mocking her.

Like he knows that, someday, she _will_ allow him to touch her.

She scowls, and then empties the remnants of the wine onto his upturned face.

**-.-.-**

_November 18th, 2003_

Her entry into his tiny quarters that night does not surprise him.

Neither does the undoing of her robe to reveal her exquisite nakedness beneath.

Her hair is down, free-flowing around her shoulders. Her lips are, yet again, painted that entrancing blood-red.

Boldly, she sits in his lap, her thighs straddling his.

"Touch me."

He reaches between her opened legs without hesitation to touch her pussy. He inserts a finger into her waiting slickness, and she moans her approval.

His fingers touch her. They fuck her as she demands until she comes, pulsing around them repeatedly, gasping his name.

His cock is rock hard for her, but he does not make another move.

He will not unless she tells him to.

Unless his Mistress tells him to.

And when she finally does, he gives his all to please her.

**-.-.-**

_January 2nd, 2004_

In the mornings, she thinks about him.

In the afternoons, she thinks about him.

In the evenings, she makes love to him.

Repeat cycle.

And avenging her loved ones has become less important.

And humiliating him has been forgotten.

And she realises a shift has occurred.

That her heart is now in charge.

That she has lost control.

* * *


End file.
